


A Blessing

by XVnot15



Category: Mirandy - Fandom, The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XVnot15/pseuds/XVnot15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miranda receives a gift that sparks sad memories. But all's well that ends well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Blessing

**Author's Note:**

> Do not upload copies of any of my fanfic anywhere online. I do not give permission for my work to be archived anywhere other than my own AO3 account, my own FF.Net account, Passion & Perfection, Royal Academy of Bards and my personal journalling accounts.

A Blessing

Pairing: Miranda/Andy  
Rating: G  
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, I make no money from my scribbles. Go on and sue me if you must, I’ll enjoy reading femslash out loud in court.  
A/N 1 Okay been a long dry spell but I have been writing and working on several things all at once. This short piece came to me rather suddenly and kind of wrote itself.  
A/N 2 Please note that most of the dialogue in the flashback is taken from the film, until the point I diverge after Andy questions whether she wants to be like Miranda.  
A/N 3 The Hebrew phrases used herein are transliterated as per the Sephardi pronunciation and the translations are approximate. Many, many thanks for Needledink's correction of my Hebrew (The Lady Wife is the Hebrew scholar not me, heh) for the following. "Ani ohevet otach l'olam = I will love you forever." Thanks again Nic.***

Miranda Priestly was very rarely surprised, even more rarely was she found to be at a complete loss, either for what her next course of action should be, or for words with which to express herself. Yet here she sat; surprised, speechless and at a complete loss as to what she should do next.

Sitting in her study at home, she stared down at the open jewellery box on her desk as her numb fingertips absently ran over the neat calligraphy on the open card resting beside the box. After a gap that could have lasted many seconds or many minutes, she reached for the brooch nestled in its’ smooth satin bed and held it up. Turning she looked at it in the waning light of the setting sun which shone through the study window.

It was a truly exquisite piece, intricate but not overworked. It was larger than Miranda would normally deem stylish, but so expertly rendered in delicate gold and silver fret-work and nacre inlay, that its’ lightness of design balanced its’ overall size.

With a trembling finger she traced the intricate design as it told a simple but profound story. Beginning at the base of the circle she touched the tiny opening hand that released a bird with folded wings. Moving to the right she followed its’ break for freedom as its’ wings spread out in small increments until it soared in perfect flight at the centre of the upper arc of the brooch. Here the bird acquired a small branch, its’ leaves picked out in tiny emeralds, and then flew on, completing the circle as it landed with its’ gift in a welcoming cupped hand, mirroring the hand that had released it. Each bird was carefully shaped using mother of pearl of varying mottled hues; grey, pink, apricot, cream and eventually the settled dove presenting its’ olive branch, was a pure silver.

Inside the circle, worked in silver on a white enamel background were Hebrew letters which Miranda reached deep into her past to decipher. As she dragged long dead lessons to the front of her mind, the letters formed words and then the phrase, once so familiar but long since lost, spoke to her and she was helpless to stop the tear that escaped and she closed her eyes as she absorbed the benediction she’d been gifted with. 

More tears followed as she reverently placed the brooch back in its’ box and her mind flew back to the last time she’d spoken to her gift giver. She was back in Paris, in that car, forcing herself for the first time in a long while to do the right thing and to do it despite the pain and the cost.  
***  
Watching the paparazzi as the car pulled away Miranda began to address Andrea but kept her eyes focused on the window as Paris slipped past.

“You thought I didn’t know. I’ve known what was happening for quite some time. It just took me a little while to find a suitable alternative for Jacqueline.” She started to pull off her gloves as she continued.

“And that James Holt job was so absurdly overpaid… that of course she jumped at it. So I just had to tell Irv that Jacqueline was unavailable.”  
A look of irritation and then grim smugness ghosted across Miranda’s face.

“The truth is, there is no one that can do what I do… including her. Any of the other choices would have found that job impossible… and the magazine would have suffered.”  
She gave an exasperated sigh.

“Especially because of the list. The list of designers, photographers… editors, writers, models, all of whom were found by me, nurtured by me… and have promised me they will follow me… whenever and if ever I chose to leave Runway. So he reconsidered.”

For just a second Miranda slid a sideways glance at her assistant trying to assess her reactions. For the moment Andrea was taking a leaf out of her boss’ book and staring out her own window, but she was sitting forward in her seat, her shoulders rigid.

Miranda turned more fully toward Andrea and continued in a much gentler tone. “But I was very, very impressed… by how intently you tried to warn me. I never thought I would say this, Andrea… but I really… I see a great deal of myself in you. You can see beyond what people want and what they need… and you can choose for yourself.”  
The young brunette turned shocked eyes to Miranda as she stuttered a denial.

“I don’t think I’m like that. I… I couldn’t do what you did to Nigel.” She continued in a more urgent voice trying to emphasise her dismay. “Miranda. I couldn’t do something like that.”

Miranda was silent for a long while as she contemplated Andrea’s troubled, but oh so beautiful face. She saw the turmoil there, saw the workings of a great decision begin as Andrea took her words, her comparison of the two of them, along a path she hadn’t meant when she’d voiced the observation. She chose her next words carefully, she needed to see what Andrea would do with them. In a gentle but no nonsense tone she challenged Andrea’s denial.

“Mmm. You already did…. To Emily.”

The girl’s beautiful doe eyes became larger as she recognised the implication of Miranda’s words, but still she clung to her denial.

“That’s not what I… No, that was… that was different. I didn’t have a choice.” The last statement had broken off in a heartfelt plea to Miranda to confirm her perception of herself, of her idea of her own innocence and coercion into an action she was now ashamed of having taken.

As Miranda looked into those dark pools, she didn’t see the brown depths of Andrea’s eyes, no she saw as if in a mirror, her own ice blue gaze staring back at her from across the years. From the time in her own life when she had woken to the realisation that she had to make a choice and keep making choices and she had to own those choices, good and bad, they would always be her responsibility. And she needed to make sure that this was a lesson that Andrea understood, so she spelled it out for her in simple detail.  
“Oh no Andrea. You chose. You chose to get ahead. You want this life, those choices are necessary.”

Miranda sat back and watched the struggle playing out on Andrea’s face. Again it was a mirror being held up to her from her own past. She waited on tenterhooks to see what part of Andrea would win this battle. She had her hopes, but she was unsure how well the young woman had been paying attention to the more subtle lessons she had been giving her.

Andrea was in turmoil fighting her conflicting emotions over Miranda’s revelations and illumination of her behaviour and choices over the past few months and days. She admired Miranda so much. She knew that the woman was driven, that she made hard choices to fiercely protect her position at Runway and Runway’s status in the fashion world. She also knew that Miranda never shied away from the consequences of her choices, she shouldered the burden of their fallout, be it the demise of her marriage or the necessary sacrifice of a friend, she would accept the consequences. 

Andy searched her heart and knew that she must make only the choices that she was prepared to accept the responsibility for, and she knew that she could not make the same choices that Miranda had made. She knew that she was not strong enough to shoulder the burden of them. 

She looked at the woman beside her, not her boss, not the icon, but the person, Miranda and she knew that the choice she would make now would for ever change the dynamic between them and that, more than anything made her decision so hard. Because she realised that whatever her choice she wanted Miranda to understand, to accept that she might be similar to the older woman, but she was not the same. As she made her decision she looked up and fell not into flinty shards of ice blue, but into the soft blue of a spring afternoon sky. Miranda’s gaze was gentle and full of compassion and something else, something infinitely delicate and gone in a flash, a glimpse of desperate yearning.

Tentatively Andrea asked for Miranda’s understanding as she whispered, “But what if this isn’t what I want? I mean, what if I don’t wanna live the way you live?”

Miranda let a small smile curve her lips, her Andrea had chosen the better path, the path of honour, the path she had not been strong enough to tread. Suddenly she pulled Andrea into a warm embrace and ghosted a whispered childhood phrase across the younger woman’s ear. “Ani ohevet otach l'olam Andrea.”

Pulling back slightly Miranda sensed the car pulling to a stop as she looked deeply into Andrea’s eyes and gently said. “If that’s not what you want Andrea, then go.”  
Cupping Andrea’s cheek in one hand she leant forward again and pressed her lips to Andrea’s forehead as she continued, “Go now. With my blessing.” 

With that benediction, Miranda turned, smoothly put her sunglasses on and stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind her as she strode purposefully up the steps through the sea of photographers and body guards. As she reached the top step she turned to look back and smiled sadly as her heart slowly walked away down the boulevard.  
***  
That Paris had been nearly three years ago and in that time she had watched Andrea’s rise to fame first as a reporter at the Mirror and then as a sought after freelance writer her by-line appearing in all the major publications from Newsweek to the New Yorker. All of Andrea’s stories were signed with her name and the three initials of IAB after her name. No one knew what they meant, but they had been there since her first feature article appeared. 

Miranda wiped the tears from her face as she breathed deeply. She picked the brooch up and whispered the Hebrew aloud, “Misha Berach U’vorak. – The One who blesses is blessed.”

Miranda stood and picked up the card re-reading the short message.

Miranda  
“If you love something set it free. If it comes back to you then it is yours, if it doesn’t it never truly was.”  
Thank you for having the courage to live this wisdom.  
I’m back. Dinner. Tonight. I’ll pick you up at 8.  
Andrea Sachs IAB (I am Blessed).


End file.
